


Last One Standing

by Klovar



Series: 32 gone, 3 to go [1]
Category: Brawl Stars (Video Game)
Genre: :'), Angst, COVER ART!, Canon Divergence, Chester - Freeform, Coping, Depression, Eturnal, Gen, Grief, I totally put it at the back so you maybe wouldn't see it, I'm not even gonna try to hide it, Loss, No characters were harmed in the making of this fic, Onxy Black, RIP, Sadness, ah yes everyone dies, also, bad and worse, bella - Freeform, but it's at the back, but yeah haha, emotional hurt and pain, for obvious reasons, how could i forget that, i guess fluff, ignore all the -freeform ao3 puts, lol, not really - Freeform, people die like no tomorrow, physically at least, support system, thanks all you discord people you rock, they love each other d'aww, this is a fic about people dying and how people cope so, this is gonna go exactly the way you think: bad, unhealthy coping methods, yeah you, you too my great readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klovar/pseuds/Klovar
Summary: When you lose your friends you might cry. When you lose your family you might scream. When you lose an arm or leg, when you lose your mind, that's when you realise that you had those all the while.-32 gone, 3 to goHe doesn't feel particularly honoured or blessed right this moment. Or since this all started, in fact. It feels like the opposite, like a punishment or a curse, rather. He tries anyway, he always does, but how much can you lose before you lose yourself?
Series: 32 gone, 3 to go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745293
Comments: 32
Kudos: 27





	1. Careful Wiring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all you people over on discord for your endless support! I know I didn't tag most of you, but I'm thankful for you nonetheless :) You too, ET and JJ, I'm so glad I met you, heehee~

The robots went first.

That was a long time ago, now.

***

"C'mere, shorty," Penny taunted, waving her gun teasingly, knowing full well she was out of her opponent's range.

"I'll stick a *drr* up your *drr*, ye hear me?!" Jacky roared, riding her drill ceaselessly. A couple of particularly loud drill noises punctuated her sentence, created by the excessive force she put on her drill in her rage. Penny just laughed.

"Shksfwsishfawa!" Tick shouted excitedly, bouncing up and down. His key ticked constantly in his excitement, just a little faster than usual. Darryl waved mascot hands he'd jammed on with a speed only a robot could achieve, the duo obviously supporting Penny.

"Yay." Dynamike sighed, about as unenthusiastic as a rock. "Go, Jacky." Carl did what might have been a fist pump, but the action was too small to really tell. He suspected those two were supporting Jacky if only because Dynamike hated how loud she was, and Jacky was loudest when she was upset, while Carl was really too scared of her to not support her in a fight.

The difference was painfully clear. Still, Penny and Jacky were too wrapped up in their fight to really notice. He supposed that was good.

He didn't know what exactly had sparked off the fight, but he could certainly explain everything else that followed. When there was a fight, you'd attract a crowd. When you attract a crowd, something would go wrong. When something went wrong, there would be a village wide brawl. He was almost certain everyone was waiting for whatever would spark off the fight, but for now they were cheering on the only two participants. Once Leon had dropped a prank on Bull, another time someone tripped and everyone crashed into each other, another time Nita accidentally summoned Bruce, who squashed many of the surrounding people... really, the possibilities of what could start a fight was endless.

"Fjsjjsa!" Tick shouted, key ticking faster than strictly healthy for the robot, bounding so much and so fast he was a blur. "Kksjabdj!" He had a split second realisation of what was about to happen.

Then Tick's head blew up.

And that was how yet another fight ended with no clear winner.

***

Everything was going perfectly fine and well, nothing was exploding suddenly, nobody was sick, no magic fluctuations were happening...

So he really, really didn't understand why things had started going wrong.

***

"I... I can fix it," Jessie asked more than said, the centre of a crowd although there was no fight. She looked around at them, eyes pleading for someone to reassure her, to back up her statement, to answer her question and put her unease to rest. Everyone stared back, terrified. No one knew what to do. They were searching for reassurance too.

"Ye can, can't ya? Ye're smart," Penny pleaded. He'd never seen the pirate girl cry before. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound beyond the occasional sniffle. "Ye can make Tick 'n Darryl wake up, right?" Her hands trembled, lost and all alone with the sudden shut down of her robot family.

"I can," Jessie asked more than said, shifting uncomfortably, "I just gotta learn how to jumpstart all the robots, right? No big deal."

"Doubt will bring you down. I believe you are capable of this," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Even though Jessie smiled shakily, and everyone started hauling the robots over to her workshop, it felt lacking. In a way, it felt insincere.

But he tried to believe in the young mechanic. Progress seemed well, as her brilliant mind set to solving the complex mess of wires each robot was made of, and to solve the problem. Hope was high as it seemed she'd reached the pinnacle of her research, dishing out the necessary steps to bring back all the robots, who'd fallen into their powered down mode over the night, and could not be woken up.

Jessie emerged puffy eyed.

"I can't do it," she'd sobbed, "I can't stay in there anymore." She made no move to stop anyone who tried to enter, running back home to the comfort of her mother. Curiosity won out, although curiosity also killed the cat, and he entered the workshop to see what exactly had scared off the young mechanic.

If he had to classify it, he'd acknowledge that the robots were awake, although he'd hesitate to say alive. They sat in rows on either side of the entrance, still and silent, empty husks of their former self. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They didn't even seem aware of who they were. It was almost worse than when they'd simply been powered down, because at least then there could be a solution. At least then, they could all pretend that the robots were sleeping in just a little, and they would wake up at any moment. This was... this was...

It was worse. It was most definitely worse. His soul ached with pain for all their lost friends.

"I can fix it," Jessie sobbed, "I can, I can...!"

"Ye can, can't ya?" Penny asked with a shaky smile, and he knew to take that hope away would be to crush them both. Hope was strong, no matter how impossible it was. If they needed to hope a little longer before they accepted reality, he'd let them.

***

They all needed to hope, if they were to make it through the night.

***

"If I construct a motherboard detailing basic functions and fundamental memories, I believe that I can restore their personalities," Jessie explained, determination in her eyes. "This is a fully feasible process, so please don't lose hope yet!"

Bea had been crying every day for a week, now. Her gaze was dull as she listened, and then when she pressed a kiss to Sprout's glass containment, but she sobbed later on when she was leaving with Rosa. He was grateful for that. He feared that she might have lost hope.

Penny turned up on his doorstep later that night. Leon showed her in, and she sat fidgeting quietly while he poured her a glass of water.

"Ye and yer... tribe. Ya see spirits, don't ya?" Penny blurted.

"We see what nature shows," he replied evenly. It wasn't strictly true that they saw spirits. Sometimes he saw ghosts of brawlers before they appeared, and he had no doubt the same thing guided Nita in her quest to hunt down and bring the new brawlers back safely. Sometimes he saw a wisp of a person's soul. Sometimes he saw the magic that shattered and reformed during their fights. Sometimes Leon told stories of pretty animals or birds that he knew didn't exist.

"Have ya seen, say... de robots, do ya see things round them?" Penny asked, thinking and changing her question midway.

"Nature shows as much from them as from anyone else. However, I have not seen anything related to them lately." He considered his words before putting them out, careful not to make her upset.

"Ah've seen ghosts," Nita spoke up, leaning against the doorway. Penny whipped around, from both surprise and the eagerness to know more.

"They wander 'round, lookin' lost." Nita paused, clearly thinking whether it was wise to disclose the next piece of information. Then she shrugged, "then they disappear."

"Have ya seen Tick 'n Darryl? Are they ok?" Penny asked in a rush, not picking up on the pause.

"They're fine," Nita said, and then, "ah think you should go home." The pirate sagged with sudden exhaustion, aware of how tired she was now that her worry was eased.

"Ok," she mumbled, walking out. She hesitated at the door briefly. "Thanks," she whispered, but she was gone before the word finished leaving her mouth.

He saw Jessie that night, when it was bordering on dawn. Perhaps it was more accurate to call it the next morning, then. She suddenly appeared in front of him, facing away, in the middle of jumping into the air with a jubilant "yes!"

"I did it!" She whooped, spinning around giddily. She caught his eye. "Mister Bo, I-"

She froze.

He watched as the young mechanic slowly looked around, and when she met his eyes again her gaze was terrified. "Where am I?" She asked, voice so very, very small.

"You are currently where I reside, although I do believe you have fallen asleep, and I now share your dream," he said mildly. Why she would project her dream so far that he could share in it, he did not know, but he did not question it. He saw what nature wanted him to see.

"I'm... asleep?" Jessie repeated slowly, looking down at her hands. She flexed them experimentally. "But I was in my workshop just a moment ago, I'm sure. I was attaching the motherboard to Tick."

"Perhaps you pushed yourself too hard, that you would fall asleep at your work," he suggested mildly. He was almost sure that Jessie had fallen asleep, and continued the work in her dreams. The jubilation of succeeding had probably caused her to project her dream far and wide.

"You don't get it," Jessie protested, frightened. "I was awake just a moment ago. I don't dream, Mister Bo." It was certainly unusual for someone dead tired to dream. But then there was just no explanation for what he was seeing and hearing, unless-

He froze.

"What's happening?" Jessie asked, tone haunted, "where am I? You know something, don't you?" Her voice rose, tone shrill and scared. He stared back, heart thumping.

She was just a _kid_.

"Jessie," he said slowly, opening his arms, "would you like a hug?" The girl hesitated, but nevertheless collapsed into his arms. She was cold and non-substantial to touch.

She shattered into a million tiny pieces the second they made contact, and he sat there, head bowed, soul aching, until Leon and Nita found him.

***

Sometimes, what nature chose to show seemed more like a curse.

***

"Barley, he told me," Nita said, "'Please set us free'." She paused. "Ah dun think ah've heard him sound tired before." She looked tired, herself. He stood beside Rosa and Bea. Those who'd lost someone crowded around, waiting to hear if he could see their loved ones and pass on one last message. He was tired, too.

"Today has been a day of heavy loss," Colt continued, picking up where Nita had dropped off smoothly, "but today we say goodbye to Jessie and our robot friends and family." The sheriff paused, swallowing. He took a deep breath and continued, "we don't know what's causing all this, but we can solve this together. Stay strong." His voice broke, and he took a shuddering breath. Bea started to cry. Rosa pulled her in closer, keeping an arm around her.

"...and brawl on." Colt said firmly. He thrust the torch he was holding into the pile of robot bodies they'd brought out, and they went up in flames.

He saw Barley first, then Darryl, then Rico, then Tick. Carl. Sprout. 8-bit.

"...thank you," Carl breathed, and then, "say goodbye to the old geezer and that stuck-up idiot for me. But don't tell her I called her that."

"...ask Penny not to give up," Darryl said quietly, Tick agreeing with a "dkajd".

"Drinks on the house," Barley chuckled lightly, holding out his hand. He took it, and the robot evaporated to nothingness. Rico and 8-bit did the same, linking hands and going together. Each farewell felt like a weight on his shoulders.

"Sprout," he addressed Rosa and Bea, "would like to give you a hug of farewell." They kept clinging on to each other even after he sent Sprout off, as if Sprout would stay if they didn't let go, and if they needed a little more time to bid farewell, he wouldn't tell them Sprout was already gone. Carl gave his family a tight squeeze without them knowing; Darryl embraced Penny and Tick planted his teeth on her forehead in a semblance of a kiss. He told them Carl's and Darryl's parting words respectively- all of it. They deserved to know. Penny didn't reply, staring at the ground blankly, then frowned.

"Fudging idiot," she snapped, "stupid, fudging idiot, don't tell me what ta do!" She screamed, burying her face in her hands and sinking to the ground. He didn't disturb her.

Dynamike just nodded, while Jacky threw back her head and laughed and laughed and _laughed_.

Her eyes were wild, her smile tight and brittle, when she finally stopped. "I'm gonna kill him," she said, voice high, "I'm gonna kill him, so he better still be alive."

And then she laughed again, laughed till tears ran down her face, and kept laughing.

He didn't disturb her either.

***

Sometimes he wondered if he'd done the wrong thing. If he should have comforted those who lost someone, instead of standing off to the side. Time may heal all wounds, but grief leaves a wound that would fester and harm before it is healed.

He wondered if this was his punishment, if nature saw fit to do to him what he'd inflicted on others.

He didn't know.

Maybe, it was better not to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here we go, all aboard the angst train, please. I promise we'll see sights we've never seen before, because this is just the tip of it all.  
> Haha, on a more serious note, though. Last One Standing is a fic about the loss of loved ones and all the things that come after. It might include materials that are uncomfortable to read, but I tried my best not to elaborate too much. It... should be general. Just sad. Very, very sad. Here, have a tissue.  
> I did take liberties with this one, as well as a number of my headcanons. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it :) Also kudos to you if you know whose POV this is from


	2. Second Pickings

They didn't have time to rest before Tara went. One day, she was there, the next, she wasn't.

It was just a day after Jessie went.

She sat down quietly on the floor in his room, studying him out of her singular eye. Her psychic eye, set atop her mask, gave him a critical look.

"...have the spirits compelled you to come to me, and no one else?" He asked. He didn't want to be the reaper of all his friends and family. The idea of sending off all thirty four of them...

"Mm," Tara replied, shaking her head. She pointed to him. "Mmm."

"I... I do not know if I have the strength to send you off," he said honestly. He didn't want anyone else to die. Tara visibly softened, drifting closer. She reached out with both hands, shaking her head as he reached for them.

"Hmm," she hummed softly, and placed both hands on his face, wiping away the wetness there as best as she could. The action made his difficult task all the more harder. Tara smiled at him, soft and forgiving.

Farewell, he wanted to say, but the only thing that he did was to place a hand over hers. Tara remained there for a heartbeat, before he managed to find the strength to send her off. She dissolved into sparkling particles, leaving a hollow void in his chest.

Sandy didn't turn up for the next few days. He was always found sleeping, but the bags under his eyes grew darker and more prominent. In contrast, Gene became a frequent visitor to the now unmanned bar. He sat in a corner and stared blankly at the table most of the time, but sometimes he'd bring a cloth and obsessively wipe the table.

Crow went next. Neither Bull nor Bibi cried. If anything, they seemed to grow tougher and more distant. He told them that Crow wanted them to have the knives he kept in his room, and Bibi roughly stated that it didn't matter, since he was already gone. Later, Leon said he'd seen both of them wearing a knife each as a necklace, although no one else seemed to see. He suspected it was on the inside of their clothes.

After Crow it was Frank, and then El Primo the week after. He found it easier to send off these brawlers because he didn't know them that well. In fact, he was relieved that it wasn't anyone he knew personally. It was selfish, he knew, and he felt guilty about thinking in such a way, but his feelings ultimately remained traitorous. He shouldn't think this way, he knew he shouldn't- taking relief or joy in another's sorrow was cruel and unjust. But he just couldn't help it.

***

Maybe he deserved what happened next.

***

"Bo," Nita said. She was beside his bed, up even earlier than he was. She tilted her head. "Ah wanna talk."

"Of course you may," he said, puzzled as to why she would ask, sitting up. It occured to him then that it had been about a week since he sent El Primo off. He froze. Nita was studying the floor.

"If... if you know... someone is gonna go..." she swallowed, "would you tell them?"

"It... would be unwise to interrupt nature's course," he managed, speaking past the tightness in his chest. Nita hunched in on herself.

"But this isn't natural, is it?" She looked up at him. She looked tired.

"It is not," he conceded, "but leaving is of a natural order." Nita suddenly let out a sob, wiping at her eyes roughly.

"Ah don't wanna do this," she pleaded, "ah don't wanna know. Bo, ah..." she trailed off, hiccuping, "ah dun wanna let go."

He opened his arms, hugging her firmly, glad that what he felt was a warm, firm body, for now. He'd take what little wins he could get.

"Perhaps you can consider creating some happiness before you let go," he said quietly. There was a tiny nod, before Nita pulled away.

"Then can we go out?" Nita asked. The young Shaman looked tired, weighed down by the knowledge of who was going to go next over and over. He felt his heart go out to her. Nita saw who would go, he sent off those to go, and Leon saw the remains of what was left. No, they didn't just see spirits. They saw what nature wanted them to see.

***

Sometimes, he wished it wasn't so.

***

"Leon, let's go see Sandy," Nita called. Leon mumbled something grumpily, having just woken up. He perked up slightly at the mention of Sandy anyway, but remained overall grumpy.

"He won't even be awake," Leon moaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically, "why must you torture me so, sister dearest?" Nita rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'll have your breakfast," she smirked. Leon shot up instantly, letting up a yelp of terror, lunging at her. The two tumbled head over heels in a tangle of limbs, finally rolling to a halt to tackle their food as fast as they could.

"Rache youf there!" Nita spluttered, mouth full, bolting away. Leon snatched up his last mouths of food in his hand, running after her. He sighed. Kids would be kids, he supposed.

***

"Bo," Nita smiled, "can we go to the forest?" Her smiled strained on the knife edge of pain. He could only agree.

***

In a way, he was prepared when the child materialised in his room. He had bid the pair of siblings goodbye, reminding them to be safe since it was dark out, and hugged both of them too. There was really nothing more he could do.

But he was surprised anyway. He hadn't known who was the one who would go, although he had guessed at which two.

"Are you the gatekeeper? Should I call you Mister Bo? Sir Bo?" The child teased, sitting down next to him.

~~"Mister Bo, where am I?"~~

"Bo?"

"That was what Jessie said," he managed, "she called me that too." A short pause.

"I'm sorry." The hand that fell on his arm was cold and unreal. That was what drove it home, made him look up and hug Leon tight and close and _sob_.

"I thought it would have been Nita," he whispered, "Nita or you, but I did not know." Leon chuckled lightly.

"Wish we could have gone together," he said ruefully, "then it wouldn't hurt, right?" But that wasn't what was happening, and it hurt all the more. Because he would have to send Leon off- he'd have to murder Leon, in a sense. And he couldn't do it. He couldn't. He wondered what would happen if he just refused to do it.

"Bo," Leon murmured, "just do it. It's not your fault, anyway." It was as if he could read his mind. Honestly, Bo didn't doubt that. Leon always saw what was hidden, now that he was a spirit, he no doubt saw more.

"Would there be repercussions if I do not take action for a little longer?" He asked instead, keeping his voice as steady as possible. Leon's hug tightened, then loosened, a squeeze of reassurance.

"Yes," he said lightly, and then, "I love you and Nita both. Tell her that, ok?"

"Alright," he managed. The air was closing in on him, making him hot and cold all at once, but he pushed Leon away with all his might, despite wanting to do the opposite.

"Bo," Leon smiled, "stay str-"

The glowing lights taunted him, the remains of someone he loved gone, the evidence of his murder. Something within him cracked and gave way, like the world just lost a little more light, and the world was starting to end.

***

He needed to stay strong, if he wanted to get through the night.

But maybe he didn't, anymore. Maybe he was just waiting for this nightmare to end, and if he fell, he fell. The world seemed so dark.

***

Nita returned the next morning.

"Did you tell him?" He asked. Nita looked at him tiredly. Something felt off.

"No," she croaked. "But ah think he knew anyway."

That was when it occured to him what was wrong. But he didn't say a word.

***

When Max turned up in his room, he let her go. Another loss felt like it would be too much, like it would smash his fragile mind to pieces and leave him dying, but still he persisted. Somehow, he pulled through. Somehow, he turned out alright.

***

"Ah dun wanna know," Nita wailed, "ah dun wanna, ah dun wanna! It hurts to know," she sobbed. He hugged her, and she hugged him.

"Will you accompany me tonight?" He asked, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't being selfish.

"Ah dun think ah can see it again," Nita admitted. "But ah'll wait outside."

"Have you been seeing..." he trailed off, horrified.

"Ah dream of it," Nita said hollowly, "when ah sleep." She looked exhausted. He didn't know what to say.

"Ah wish Leon was still here," she suddenly said, "he made dah dreams go away." Bringing it up made him hurt all over again, in a weird, detached, stinging kind of way, and somehow he didn't cry.

***

When the bright yellow skeleton healer appeared in front of him, he didn't ask where he was. Instead, he held up his ukelele with a triumphant grin, and he ended up sitting listening to songs that both at once soothed and tore at his heart. Poco played song after song after song, each as haunting and sad as it was joyous and jubilant.

"Poco," he found himself saying, unable to quite stop the words from coming, "I cannot find the strength to do this."

"Why didn't you come talk about it earlier then, silly?" Poco replied with a small smile. "I think you'll find Pam shares your grief." He let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Would she have sent off the spirits of all her friends and family?" He asked bitterly. Poco tilted his head slightly.

"Bo," he said instead, and smiled so bright it was as if all his troubles could be melted away by it, "gimme a hug, won't you?"

When he let go, Poco was already gone, and it was Nita who stood at the doorway, eyes keen despite her exhausted stance. She smiled.

"Ah told you, ah dun wanna know," she said. Her smile was tight and brittle, like it would shatter at any moment and leave nothing but hurt and grief in its place. It stretched wider. "Ah told you." She repeated.

"I did not disbelieve you," he told her, and that was when Nita broke down sobbing.

She was still just a child.

***

How many had they lost? Perhaps, he reflected, it would have been so much better to be lost than to lose. But here they were. The last ones standing. He wondered if anyone cared.

It wasn't an achievement, anymore.

Once, to be the last one standing was to be the winner. It was a glorious, glorious position. Now, they sat huddled together, waiting and just so tired.

If this was a coveted position, he didn't want it. He didn't feel like a winner. He just wanted to go, too. He tried his best to hope, but hope was hard to come. He'd lost it all, and then some more, and then yet more. You really didn't know what you had until you lost it.

But by then it was too late, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, that's right, this is all from Bo's point of view! There are a total of six chapters(and we've went through two), and I'm proud to say all the titles end with "ing"(...sort of). And are four syllabuses.  
> Yeah. That's all I wanted to say.  
> This chapter was interesting to write, although I suppose, like everything else I write, it's confusing at best. Haha, oops :)  
> I regret nothing.


	3. Third One Charming

"Is this what you told us about? Being dead?"

"That is correct."

"I don't like it."

The sound that escaped him was a cross between a sob and a silent scream.

***

If anyone had told him, a long time back, when this all started, that he'd be eager to send off his friends and family by the end of it all, he might have just punched them, aiming true with his bow be damned.

He might just still punch himself, now, for being eager for such a thing.

***

He was starting to see a pattern. The first round had consisted of the robots and Jessie. There had been a day long break where nothing happened for every brawler gone.

The second round had consisted of brawlers from their little trios who had not yet been disturbed. There had been a week long break for every brawler.

This was the third round. He felt like they were slips of paper in a drawing bowl, helpless and suffocating, waiting to be drawn, and he was the unwilling volunteer, forced to open up the slips of paper and throw them into a bin over and over. Nita was the other volunteer, the one taking the slip of paper and reading it before passing it to him, and still their names were on paper in the bowl too.

He didn't want to participate in this twisted game of life and death. And still, he ended up with a piece of paper in his hand, and even though he didn't want to look, his eyes snuck over to the ink on the paper. This time, it said...

***

"Rosa," he said tiredly, " no one likes this." She shifted her piercing eyes to him.

"I can't be dead," she shouted, striding forward, "Bea still needs me! If I leave Bea'll-"

Her hands half phased through his shoulders as she tried to grab him. She recoiled as if she'd been struck, staring between her hands and him repeatedly.

"I can't leave," she repeated in a small voice, as if it would help. "Bea... I need to be there for Bea. She already lost Sprout."

"It is not I who chose your fate," he could only say, as if shifting the blame to something else made it better. He held out a hand, waiting. Rosa looked at him like he was the worst person alive.

"It doesn't matter! I won't go!" She shouted, steering clear of his hand. He lunged forward as she ran for the door, hand closing on the edge of her shirt. Rosa threw a dulled, spiked punch at his face, snarling as she twisted in desperation. Love was the strongest emotion, he knew. It drove people to great lengths.

***

He let go of the paper slip, and it fell, a crumpled mess, into the hungry maw of the void. He watched it fall, staring after it even after it was gone, hoping that maybe it would somehow find the strength to soar back up on paper wings. That maybe love could overpower even death.

But nothing happened.

***

Two weeks. Two weeks, before someone else was casted to die. He wasn't sure if the extra time was helping him heal or forcing him to fester. He just wanted it over and done with.

"Huh. Never imagined I'd die just like that," Brock smiled, admiring how translucent his hands had become, patting the floor in wonder.

"You have my condolences," his mouth said, and he wondered why it couldn't be _him_ that died.

"So what now? Do we have to do some kinda ritual or something?" Brock asked, seeming completely non-plussed with the fact that he was dead. He caught the too-light tone, the tension in the other's shoulders, the way his hands tapped endless against his thighs, and he knew better. Brock was just trying to make things easier on both of them.

"You need simply take my hand," he said, holding out his hand. It trembled subtly, heavy with the weight of countless lives.

"You stay cool, my man," Brock smiled, "just as you are." Their hands touched. He impulsively sent off the spirit before he had a chance to feel gratitude or regret or anything at all. To feel here was to fail.

He didn't know what to fail meant, and he didn't want to find out.

***

After Brock came Mr.P, who honestly wasn't too hard to send off. He felt uneasy. It felt like trouble, as if the next person to appear would be someone significant, someone important, someone he knew well and loved dearly, and this was the lull he needed to be able to carry out his duty. Someone like Nita. Someone like Leon. Someone like-

Colt.

And he couldn't do it, he couldn't, he couldn't, he just _couldn't_.

***

"Bo," Colt said gently, like he was a delicate flower that would break at the slightest of hits, "we're all counting on you now. Don't give up." The moment stretched too long and squashed itself too short all at once. He wanted it to end. He didn't want it to end. He wanted it to end. He didn't want it to end.

"Oh, and tell Shelly she's the one and only true poo-poo head around here," Colt said off-handedly, breaking the moment effectively.

"...pardon?" He had to ask, barely catching a number of key phrases in his internal debate of wanting the end the moment or not.

"Tell Shelly," Colt repeated seriously, although his eyes twinkled with mischief, "that she's the one. The only. The true poo-poo head." There was a short pause as he struggled to contain his emotions. On one hand, he disapproved of this kind of silly, nonsensical insulting, and he knew Colt knew it. It had to be why he had one name but at least ten nicknames courtesy of the sheriff himself. On the other hand, this was Colt's last request, and the last time he'd ever hear something like this. It incited a bittersweet mix within him, a dream of better days long gone.

"Alright," he managed, without saying anything else. Colt grinned.

"Thanks, feathers. You know I'll miss you, right?" He asked cheekily. Despite himself, he let out a long suffering sigh.

"I will never know how you came to be sheriff," he told Colt, who snickered.

"Because I get the job done," he retorted, "unlike a certain bird brained individual... Which reminds me." Colt plopped down beside him, and he unconsciously stiffened as their arms brushed.

Colt's arm was cold.

"You need to wake up."

***

Sometimes, dreams weren't such great things after all.

***

In a way, he really, really wished this wasn't quite so hard. Because Colt was still in his room, and Colt was still waiting to die, and Colt hadn't really asked for anything. Just stared at him blankly. He wanted the sheriff to say something, to insult him, perhaps, or call him names, or say something remotely light-hearted like he'd dreamed.

But nothing happened.

"Bo," Colt sounded unusually subdued, when he finally spoke. He paused, struggling to come up with the right words. "I... You gotta believe me. We all don't blame you, ok?" He reached out, as if he was about to make contact.

He recoiled backwards, lashing out in instinct, shoving Colt far, far away mentally. The sheriff looked surprised for a moment, but then he was gone, and the only one left in his room was him. Him and the residual magic, mocking him as they danced in sparkling spirals around him. He didn't feel like moving, so he just sat on the floor until sometime in the morning, when Nita came in to check on him.

"Really, now, you gotta take care of yourself," Nita said stiffly, her expression distant, and he thought he knew why. Her hand reached to touch her necklace, but closed on empty air. She froze slightly, before lowering her hand.

"Where is the grave?" He asked, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. It sounded exactly like how he felt. Nita's eyes strayed over him, hand absently pulling on the hem of her robe, where her necklace once rested. She hesitated, then, "ah'll bring you later," she said.

He believed her.

***

Later, he solemnly put a flower on Leon's empty grave, beside Nita's necklace. It felt like an ending.

He felt like ending.

***

Neither Jacky, who came next, nor Spike, who came after, put up much fuss. Jacky just laughed for a good minute, before she cracked her knuckles and demanded to be sent off, eyes wide and face set in a twisted smile, while Spike just smiled wider, gingerly held out a spikeless finger, and quietly went. Even if it had been someone who reacted violently, he didn't think he would have cared. His actions felt lacking, much like how a puppet's were, but he didn't know why.

When he finally went out to deliver the last messages of their loved ones, he distantly observed how Shelly snarled and kicked a table, and then punched it so hard that splinters flew out, how Dynamike just sighed and nodded, eyes as wild as Jacky's had been, how Bea stared at him vacantly in return.

"I mean no disrespect," the young botanist said coldly, "but it's been eleven weeks. If you wanted to say something, maybe you should have done it sooner, shaman." He wanted to explain that that wasn't his role, it was Nita's, but somehow he left without having done that. The door slammed close behind him when he left, and he couldn't rectify his mistake, so he made his slow way back home. He dropped by Leon's grave, wondering what exactly he had done wrong, and where exactly he had gone wrong, but could identify nothing. Instead, he put another flower by the grave.

***

He really, really wished he had done more.

This ending felt like death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, yes, heavy chapter. Special thanks to C'eleste, a game about mental health and overcoming them, and Hollow Knight, a game which provided me appropriate references I can put in which sounds good. And, of course, for being good games in the first place :)  
> The title is actually a throwback to the phrase "third time's the charm!", as well as "prince charming", don't know if you caught that :) Also, there is a very specific order everyone is going in: but I'll entertain questions and what-if situations of any two brawlers in the same family swapping places! (Say, Bea and Rosa etc) Leave a comment or contact me on discord at Klovar#6090!


	4. Thorough Burning

He was in a daze. One day bled into the next; time had no more meaning. There was just him, his room, Nita, and the occasional spirit. Those left started banding together in a single house, afraid to be alone and yet more afraid of their grief. Shelly had ordered all those who wanted company to go to Poco's now empty house- the request too angry to deny- and then her and Piper had settled everyone who came down. Mattresses, blankets, and food was brought in, and when Nita dragged him down to see, he decided it looked like a cross between a giant sleepover and a homeless shelter. People comfortably sat around the house, their makeshift beds serving as their new living space. They crossed over and hugged and comforted each other when the need arose, and then cried together. Shelly and Piper were there. Bea had firmly settled herself in a corner and was helping the two of them run the entire operation. Dynamike, Penny, and Pam exchanged stories, and Mortis and Emz sat chatting in the middle of nowhere. Some had pulled blankets around themselves and nursed cups of what looked like hot chocolate. Others seemed to be pressing on determinedly.

"Oh, are you coming to join us?" Piper called from across the room, picking her way over delicately. He didn't realise she was talking to them until she stood in front of him.

"Ah am," Nita said, before he could say anything. He blinked at her in surprise. She returned the look steadily. "You should too. You need it."

"I do?" He asked in reply. He felt tired. Being in such a lively place reminded him of better times. Reminded him how many he'd sent off. Suddenly, the house felt terrifying, rather than warm and inviting. "I would rather not," he said, turning away. Nita grabbed his hand.

"Bo," she said quietly, "if you knew someone was gonna die, would you tell them?" He jolted in surprise. It sounded eeriely familiar, but he couldn't place why.

"...no," he finally said. His thinking felt sluggish, unable to move quite as fast as he wanted it to. It was nothing clear or sharp, and he couldn't quite find the words he wanted to put out either. He wasn't sure when it'd gone wrong. Everything had gone wrong.

"You'd spend happy memories with them, wouldn't you?" Nita asked, smiling at him. A single sharp tooth peaked through, glinting in the light. He looked back at her, and all of a sudden it occured to him that her smile looked strained.

Strained on the knife edge of pain.

"What troubles you?" He demanded. The realisation felt like a bucket of cold water, freezing him to his core, but shocking him awake nonetheless. He suddenly realised Nita had eye bags, too, and her stance was slumped and exhausted. His own body had sagged, and he straightened his back immediately. When had this happened?

"If you knew someone was gonna die," Nita repeated, "you'd create some happiness wit them, right?"

~~"Can we go to the forest?"~~

"Are... Are you next?" Nita just smiled, eyes sad, but still fierce.

"Are you coming?" Nita redirected easily instead, nodding to the house. Piper stood waiting in the doorway. He didn't want to. He wanted to. He didn't want to. He wanted to. He didn't want to. He wanted to.

What was the right thing to do? Had he ever made the right choice? Was he even in control?

"I do not know," his mouth said, but his feet followed where Nita walked. Bea gave him a look with just the right mix of bitterness and anger to be called grief. When he ended up on a bed, and a blanket around his shoulders, she came over to give him his cup of hot chocolate anyway. Hesitated. Swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I... I know this is hard on you too." Her tone was sincere, her actions soft, but her eyes were still bitter and angry and hurt when he looked up.

"It is alright," his mouth said, even as he sank back into tiredness. It formed a smile, but he didn't think it reached his eyes.

If Bea noticed that, she didn't say so. She just turned and left.

***

It felt strange to send off someone when he was somewhere else. Gene didn't protest or struggle when he realised it was his turn to die. It took a lot of guessing on his part, as Gene repeated, "hafalbula" over and over irritably, pointing and gesturing emphatically, before he managed to guess rightly that Gene wanted Sandy to join the shelter. After that, Gene went willingly, but it made him feel worse. Murder was murder, and murder of a willing victim was just...

Instead, he rose and left the house quietly, heading to where he knew Sandy stayed. He still felt tired, but he didn't think it would ever lift. He'd used his mind as a weapon to send off those he had to. For his mind to be dulled as a result seemed almost fitting. Cruel, ironic, and twisted, but fitting nonetheless.

"What did he say?" The voice that greeted him was as tired as he felt, and slightly slurred. Sandy peered at him through swollen eyes, obviously exhausted and drained, but still very much awake and aware that Gene was gone. He sat listlessly on a bed that didn't look like his, in a room that didn't look like his, in a house that didn't look like his. Not anymore.

"He wishes you join the... shelter at Poco's residence," he said, struggling slightly on what to call the gathering. Sandy let out a mirthless chuckle, and looked away.

"Ok," he said simply, "lead the way." When he'd turned, he saw the boy wipe at his eyes roughly, but he chose not to comment. The two of them made their slow way to the gathering of the lost, where Sandy less of picked a bed and more of just flopped on the nearest one. A part of him wanted to say something, but he wasn't quite sure what and he didn't feel like thinking about it. Instead he sat down on his own bed, and for once, he slept in.

***

The month passed without incident. No one was disappearing. It was curious, but he brushed it off. Despite how peaceful it was, Nita only appeared to get less rest, and was constantly restless. He felt concerned for her, but since she often went off to the forest, he figured she was simply missing home, and the proximity to the forest it provided. He suggested they move back, but she shot down the suggestion near instantly, and he let her. Surely there was a reason she wanted to stay here.

While the company had been- and still was, at times- a terrible reminder of what he'd done, he felt more comfortable around them, now. While it had been quite a while since Poco went, he did eventually take up the healer's advice to talk to Pam. It was something about the house, perhaps, that reminded him of Poco and what he'd wished. In a way, he felt like he could trust her. She was very open and forthcoming about her pains, sharing with him how she had coped with her grief, and listening to his troubles. When he was with her, the tiredness eased up, and he could almost think straight. He was, of course, reminded of all he'd lost, but it was... not unpleasant. It felt soothing, rather than hurtful, to talk with her.

Bull and Bibi arrived later that month, looking slightly put out, at the insistent pestering of Nita. She looked proud of herself, but still remained restless, constantly running off.

"Would you like to visit Leon's grave with me?" He asked her once, on a visit himself.

"No." Nita snapped back, scowling briefly. Then she caught his eye, freezing. She turned away, though, fleeing the house, before he could say a word. Something felt off, but he didn't know what. After all, Nita was the one who had been insistent they come, why would she be so restless within the very walls she chose to stay in? He was, of course, grateful that she had convinced him to stay. It had done him quite a bit of good, but he didn't understand why she would not do the same. She would get along nicely with Sandy, he knew.

***

He should have known it wouldn't last.

It was just that the time period had been extended to a month, this time. If he hadn't already known it, he knew now. This was the fourth round. When they had all fallen, he knew well who would be left. In a way, he understood where Nita was coming from.

But she was still just a _child_. No child should have to bear such a budern.

When he looked around at those left, he realised that maybe, it was the children that suffered most, despite being the most undeserving ones.

***

"I don't feel dead," Bibi stated flatly, "am I?"

"You are," he said, feeling like laughing and crying all at once. He wanted to care, yet he didn't, wanted to scream and shout and rage and break down sobbing all at once because _this wasn't fair_. It was a far cry from just a month ago, where he barely cared enough to send off Gene. Still his fingers traced the outline of a imaginary slip of paper, bearing Bibi's name. For the first time in a month, Nita was close behind, staring at him through slitted eyes carefully. When he slid her a glance, she looked away. He held out a hand for Bibi to take anyway. She studied it, and didn't comment on the way he felt his face twist or the way his breath picked up in time with the tremors in his hand.

"Will it hurt?" Her voice was steady, her concerns practical. The Retropolis trio had always been tough on the outside and yet tougher inside. He knew they cared, of course, but the three of them didn't show it.

"It should not," he replied, keeping his mind focused on the present, on his duty. Perhaps to feel was to fail, but to stop feeling was to lose. He could afford to fail, because he could put himself back together and try again, but he couldn't afford to lose, because to lose was to let the opponent win, and their opponent wanted to destroy them all.

"Can you tell Bull... you know," Bibi started, finishing her statement awkwardly. Her cheeks visibly pinked, even in the low light. She rubbed her neck awkwardly, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"Certainly," he said, and his hand was steady- steady, steady, steady- went he sent her off. He breathed deeply, slightly amused by how Bibi had dissolved into bouncing balls of light, but more saddened by her departure than anything else.

When he turned, Nita was already asleep.

***

"Just like that," Nita smiled, but the tears in her eyes betrayed her, "just like last time." He couldn't possibly return the smile, but he hung on to her every word, clinging to the last shreds of comfort and family he'd get from her.

"You're doing well, Bo," Nita encouraged, smiling brilliantly, before it dissolved into a sob, "so wel-"

***

"Bo." Bea loomed over him, but turned out to be her usual size when he sat up. "Want breakfast?" He accepted his portion with a nod of thanks, admiring how bravely the young botanist continued to face life, even after losing it all. He could stand to learn from her approach.

"Would you know Nita's whereabouts?" He asked before she could leave. Bea returned him a puzzled look, shrugging. Some days, her gaze still turned resentful or bitter, but she always tried to shake it off. For that, he admired her too. He thanked her anyway, and went to hunt Nita down once he was done eating. It wasn't hard.

"Ah should be scared," Nita's voice guided him as he neared their former house. He hesitated slightly, but pressed on. He had wanted to talk, and he was going to get his talk.

"Ah shouldn't want this. But ah do." Nita sounded close to tears.

"It's ok-" Bull's gruff voice started, but Nita interrupted him.

"It's not!" She screamed, "how do you think Bo'll feel, knowing ah _want_ to disappear?! That ah _want_ to leave?" He paused in his tracks. Nita's shout echoed around the forest, leaving it silent and still as all life froze, listening for danger.

"How'd you feel knowing Bibi wanted to go?!" Nita shouted, the sound echoing round and round and round, bouncing back to where it came from over and over.

"I don't think he'll mind," Bull sounded witsful, "like I don't. Jus miss her. Spend some time together, huh?"

"...ok" Nita sounded tired, the trace of an apologetic tone not quite strong enough to become an apology, "but it'll hurt more."

He'd heard enough. He retreated far, far away, silently, but when he was far enough he broke into a run, uncaring of the branches that slapped at him. He burst out of the forest and ran straight back to Poco's house.

Maybe they could talk later. Definitely later.

For now, he talked with Pam, telling her of betrayal and guilt and hurt, and she replied with sorrow and comfort and hope. He could almost forget that anything would happen, could almost ignore it all, except that Nita came to talk to him, too.

"Ah'm sorry," she sobbed over and over, "ah'm sorry." Her eyes teetered on the knife edge of uncertainty. He could only forgive her.

***

He was sorry, too. He hadn't managed to keep the promises he'd made, hadn't managed to do what he said. Instead, he lay on his side, staring ahead blankly.

He didn't want to get up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly falling in deeper and deeper into trouble, and you don't even know it. Hang in there, Bo, it's already getting brighter! You can do this!  
> Still headcanoning that Bull and Nita are great friends- they got that sibling relationship going strong between them, even if neither of them will say so, haha.  
> I think what a lot of people don't get, though, is that grief isn't about being sad. Grief is about losing someone or something dear to you, finding yourself stranded in reality without them, and just trying to fill the hole they left with what you can get. Everyone reacts differently to the hurt. Some people are sad. Some get mad, and start blaming the person or themselves. Some people just end up bottling everything up, or keeping it all in themselves, trying to fill their lives with something else. More often than not, it's a combination. I've presented a side that's more of being tired and lost, dragging through one day after another, but that's not all it, of course, and it's important to keep that in mind. Take care of yourself if you're suffering through a dark period- everyone grieves, but it's important to move on too!


	5. For An Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and support, guys!! We hit 11 kudos and 155 hits!

"Bo," Nita cupped his face in her hands, "stay strong." She smiled softly, a rare sight to behold. Normally, Nita pulled a grimace or a sharp grin, and she conveyed everything in between with those two major expressions. Even now, a single sharp canine peeked through, glinting in the low light.

"Ah'm proud of you," she said quietly, "no matter how much we lose, there's still hope, ok?"

His jaw was ice, his hands were stone, and his legs were water. He couldn't move, or breathe, or speak. He just sat there dumbly, unable to quite process what was happening. Nita's hands remained cold on his face, and when he finally lifted his own to cup hers, his mind felt fragile, like it was about to shatter. He wanted to plead for her not to go, but he knew it was futile.

"Ah love you," Nita smiled, tone light and near sing-song, pausing between each word to emphasize it, but it fell flat to his ears, until all he heard was a distant voice. Her face moved closer, until he should have been able to feel her hot breath on his face, but the only thing he felt was a cool pressure on his forehead as she pressed a kiss to it.

He stayed sitting there, hands hovering over where Nita's were, frozen in time long after she was gone- long after he _murdered her_. The tears burned hot in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in all too predictable patterns, but neither hot enough nor fast enough to thaw his frozen state.

When he finally lowered his hands, motion crashed back into him in a sudden, startling rush, and he opened his mouth to scream, scream till his voice was hoarse, scream till he cried, scream till the world fell silent and still. The grief was a never-ending torrent, crashing over him and pulling him down, down, down, and the guilt was tenfold. The sound roared through him, desperate for release and yet more desperate to be gone, the sound that a dragon might make when it'd lost it all, and then it lost something yet more. The sound a dragon made when it lost the one thing that it had left, that precious small treasure of it's once great hoard.

Because it wasn't about how small or little that last treasure was, or how valuable it was, was it? It was having even what precious little you had left being taken away when you'd already lost so much. That was what hurt the most. Even if he knew there were others at his back, somehow it wasn't the same. Because it had been Nita who shared his pain, been Nita who found him in the morning and made him take care of himself, been Nita who'd been his family for years and years and _years_.

He opened his mouth to scream, but not a single sound escaped him. Only tears, and the accompanying silent sob- tears that wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried.

***

To feel was to fail, but to not was to lose. He could not find his balance, stuck stumbling from one spectrum to the next, more so as he was shoved over and over with the weight of all the lives he took. He had his bow, but it was empty, and he could find no arrows to put in it. Instead, he screamed, raised his bow high above his head, and brought it down on whoever was doing this to them with a solid crack.

If it worked, it wasn't apparent. There was only one noticable difference.

Now he didn't have a bow.

***

"Are you alright?" Today was a day where Bea looked at him openly in concern. He'd reverted to his original position when he had first came, the blanket wrapped tight around himself. It provided meager warmth, although it was all sucked up by the hollow void within.

"No," he barely had to consider the question. His voice came out tired and weak and hoarse, falling flat on the single syllable it had to produce. The tears had dried long ago, leaving him an empty hollowed-out shell. Bea snuck a number of subtle glances around, tallying the number of people they had in the shelter, searching for missing faces or new ones. Her lips moved silently as she counted the number of heads.

"Do you want anything?" She asked, mildly distractedly, frowning as she failed to identify anything out of place, no doubt assuming Nita had... Nita...

"Hey," her voice was alarmed, "it's ok." Her arms snaked around his shoulders in a hug. She didn't quite reach around totally, since he was a broad adult and she was a small child, but it was much, much warmer than what the blanket offered. His eyes stung, and he wasn't sure why.

"Do you want me to get Nita?" She asked, no doubt with only the best of intentions. Her voice was openly sincere and concerned. Family was all they had left, but these days, family seemed to be the only thing they lacked. He thought he knew out of which four might go next, although he didn't know exactly which two.

"Nita," he repeated, and Bea discreetly gestured to someone else, "she told me she was proud of me." The subtle movements he felt from Bea's gesturing came to an abrupt stop as she froze.

"Oh," she managed, the hand that had peeled away coming back to return the hug properly. She squeezed lightly, as if she could squeeze all his pain and hurt right out of him, and allow him relief as long as she didn't let go.

It didn't work.

***

He wished he could take all his pain and squeeze it right out of him.

***

The time delay was still a month. He'd healed, and felt, and lost it all again, but at the end of the day, he was still him. And they were still on their fourth round.

This was the round that would reduce those still alive to be all alone. Their names might all still be in the drawing bowl, but there were only four candidates to go.

He held his head high, and tried to stay strong.

***

It was the self proclaimed harbinger of doom and death that came next, eliminating Emz from the drawing bowl for now. Was it irony that the bringer of death himself would die, or was it simply what it was? Sooner or later they all would go, he thought, so perhaps it wasn't irony, just a fact. Something that wasn't an if, but a when.

But would they even all go? What if this was it? When they were all reduced to one, instead of zero, could it stop there?

He didn't know. For now, he let Mortis go.

And a month later, he let Piper go.

Neither had had much complaints or messages to pass on. In fact, Mortis had been rather grateful that it was him, instead of his niece. He suspected that all the bats that suddenly appeared in the house were always there, and had simply been hidden by Mortis thus far, but had ended up exposed now that he was gone. Emz took good care of them, though, although he still didn't know how exactly she managed to get them food. On the other hand, Piper had very mildly nodded. And then sat with him planning out how exactly everything would work out now that she was gone for ages. He'd obediently written out everything she asked, her watchful gaze tracking every word, and passed the plan on to Shelly the next morning.

"We ain't workaholics," Shelly sighed, tone annoyed, rolling her eyes at the impressive number of tasks crammed into the schedule, but somehow everything on there had gotten done anyway. To be fair, Emz and Penny joined in on the house crew, so maybe that was how.

They still had Shelly and Bea, and now Emz and Penny, running the shelter. Even if there was only one of each of them left, it was fine. They were fine, this was ok, there wasn't anything remotely wrong about this and he was completely _fine with it_. Everyone stayed at the shelter now. All nine of them. It wasn't a big number, and it was fairly comfortable. With four people keeping the house clean and meals coming, why wouldn't it be? Dynamike talked with Bull now, not Penny, and he still talked with Pam. Sometimes, Sandy managed to rouse himself from his sleep to join them outside of meal times- an impressive development for the sleep-deprived brawler.

Things were going great. He was fine with things, as they were.

He was. He was. This could all be over now, and the rest of them could recover and stop hurting and stop losing. This could all be over. He could stop killing all his friends and family and live a relatively happy life here with all his remaining mismatched friends.

He put another flower by Leon's grave- one for Nita, one for him. Somehow, if he ever died, he would like to do it right here. He smiled at the grave, and told them that it could all be over, and that maybe they could finally rest.

He told them that maybe they'd won.

***

"Are you free to talk?" Pam asked. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grimacing slightly at how late- or rather, early- it was, but agreeing nonetheless. If she wanted to talk at such a weird timing, she must have something private to share. He would oblige, even if he still felt the last dredges of sleep clinging to him, and the urge to sleep lurked right beneath the surface of his mind.

"What do you wish to talk about?" He asked, idly running through the many topics she might have to talk about through his head.

"Let's take ah walk," Pam said instead. She looked tired as well, but overall remained awake. Anyone would look tired at this kind of time, really. He agreed, both because he wished to accommodate what she wanted and because he honestly still felt tired. A walk would clear his mind and help them both wake up. Besides, it would give them an extra layer of privacy. He didn't know what Pam wanted to talk about, but if she didn't want anyone to hear, he'd let her.

The moon was fairly bright today, illuminating their path clearly. They meandered along the paths, pace slow, the silence stretching soothingly. Pam walked decisively, and he followed where she went. The path was familiar, as they neared his former home, and he didn't hesitate to allow her entry. There, he settled into his bed, and despite his insistence, she stood, staring out of the window.

"'Tis," she said slowly, "'tis w'ere you send us off, ain't it?" He jolted in surprise.

"...it is," he swallowed, feeling mildly uncomfortable. Still, he trusted Pam. He didn't back down from the topic.

"You don't like 'tis place." She stated. It wasn't a question, and he didn't need to answer. He met her gaze when she looked at him.

"Keep it like that," she said suddenly, "don't think of 'tis as home. Think ot 'tis as ah shrine, and Poco's house as home." He struggled with this idea for a moment, but ultimately accepted it. It wasn't a bad idea. By thinking of this place as a shrine, dedicated to sending off spirits, and Poco's house at home, he was separating the two ideas of sending people off and home. Danger and safety.

"Promise me," Pam snapped, swinging round to face him, taking a step forward in a near aggressive manner. The fairly bright moon outside set her face full of shadowed lines, highlighting her seriousness.

"...I promise," he said, after a short pause, only slightly taken aback by her intensity, and recovering fairly quickly. Pam seemingly deflated, slowly sinking to the floor, using the nearby wall to lower her considerable bulk down safely.

"Good," she sighed, "that's good..." The silence stretched on. Outside, the moon shone with a soft, bright light, illuminating where it touched. All was silent and still, even the ever-alive forest sleeping at a time such as this. Pam looked up at him, meeting his gaze curiously...

And smiled.

"Send me off," her smiling mouth said, "how you did Jessie, won't cha?"

And the world ground to an absolute halt.

***

If he really, really thought about it... he didn't know why he'd have thought that it all ended with one of them. There was always going to be one last stander, the absolute winner, the best player, the luckiest one of them all. But he did. He thought it was over, anyway.

He just didn't know why he did. Was it foolish hope, a delusion, a last coping mechanism? Did it matter?

***

"Don'tcha give up, now," Pam demanded. Her hands hovered right over his shoulders, just shy of making contact and shaking him hard, hard, hard. Both her words and the imminent shaking she posed seemed very distant and far away to him. The only thing he seemed capable of doing was to stare blankly, his mind slipping back into that slow, dogged state, unable to quite connect the dots he had and extrapolate from there. Even the cold shock as Pam finally made contact, and he was shaken back and forth, back and forth, didn't do much to snap him out of his daze.

He was shaking. But Pam had let go. Why...?

"..." A weight settled down next to him. He didn't look at who it was, despite being curious. Somehow, he felt, it had to be... someone familiar. He knew them. He didn't. He knew them. He didn't. He knew them...!

He didn't. He really, really _didn't_. Their name suddenly eluded him, their face achingly familiar but blurry in his mind all the same. Who were the- no. No, they had a gender, he knew that. It was... it was...

"Bo," someone said, someone very familiar, "stop." He didn't know how to stop. He didn't know what to stop. This familiar voice... perhaps it was who he was trying so hard to remember? But he couldn't quite lift his head. The air was pressing down on him and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't _stop_.

"Stop!" The same person snapped, a certain edge creeping into their voice. It sounded familiar, that emotion, but not quite, not really. All of a sudden, cold hands grabbed his wrists, and he yelped. He looked up, and that was- that was...

...who was that?

No, he knew them- her. He knew her. He did, he did, he did-

"Breathe," she snapped, and now he recognized the edge in her voice to be fear, "follow me." There was a certain authority in her voice that he couldn't deny. When she inhaled, he followed. When she exhaled, he followed. Slowly, the struggle to breathe eased, and the air pressing down on him relented.

"...Pam?" He blinked at her owlishly. All of a sudden everything came crashing back down over him. He had, at times, felt lost and tired, and his mind had become hazy and slow. But that had been over time. This time he'd just completely whited out over the span of a few seconds, and he'd forgotten so much.

"Stop," Pam repeated firmly, grabbing his wrists. He suddenly became aware that he had been digging his fingers into his temples. He didn't remember doing so. She hunkered down, meeting him eye to eye. It made him uncomfortable.

"You're jus' having ah panic attack," she said calmly, like nothing had happened at all, and nothing was wrong. Her eyes were steady, her voice more so, and her grip never faltered, despite staying loose. He tried to breathe.

"Everything's alright," Pam said, and he believed her. Her face softened, and she pulled him in for a hug.

"'Tis a shrine," she whispered, "not home." He believed that too.

***

The only thing he had left was to believe.

That was the only way he could possibly ever find the strength to do what had to be done. To feel was to fail, but to not was to lose. He only had to believe in all the right things, and he'd be fine.

Just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you'll be totally fine, just keep telling yourself that. As long as you don't panic too much again... but hey, now that you know it's going to keep going, you won't, right?  
> I drew quite a bit of inspiration of this from C'eleste- if you haven't seen it, the portrayal of a panic attack is absolutely gorgeous- it really forces you to feel the panic, and makes you white out, yourself. Go check it out! I was also inspired by the song 'Irony', it's so good :')  
> I wrote this when Pam was still thicc, and I was busy being hyped for her remodel then. Now... hey. That still counts as 'considerable bulk', right? ...right. And you can't change my mind.


	6. Last One Standing

A year.

An entire year passed, and nothing happened. He knew better than believe it all over. This was the next round.

They were ink, ink on paper in a drawing bowl, and he was the unwilling volunteer, forced to open and read the names over and over before discarding them. The drawer taunted them, swirling their hand round and round the bowl, delicately picking up slips of paper with the next victim, taking progressively longer. First it had been a day, then a week, then a fortnight. Then it had moved on to a month, and now a year.

First the robots and Jessie, then one from those who had not yet lost, then two more rounds to whittle them all off to one. This was the fifth round. At the end of a this, there wouldn't be a last one standing.

They'd all be gone.

He took the next slip of paper and read it. He saw the name, and he knew that face, but somehow, he didn't feel like it was random. In a way, it felt calculated- something that Jessie would have surely cracked.

And that, he realised, was his answer.

***

"You take care of her," Dynamike smiled. His hat moved up slightly, and his canary peeked out from underneath. Even now, those two were inseparable. Mortis had left his bats behind, but Dynamike was going with his canary. In a sense, it might be because there would be no one left to take care of the little bird. The bats had Emz, while the canary wouldn't have anyone. After all, Dynamike was the last of his little trio to go.

They were all going to be the last of their trios.

"I will," he managed, keeping his mind focused on the idea that this was not home, and this was what was meant to be done here, and that home didn't mean danger. He tried very hard not to think about how this was once home and how he was sitting in once his room and on once his bed.

The canary retreated back under the hat, and Dynamike chuckled lightly. He leaned in closer and further up in an effort to come closer, eyes just a little wild, as they always were. For a grown man, he was terribly short. Even on tiptoes, he barley made it in getting a face-to-face height.

"You take care of you too, lad. Look half dead," the miner cackled, only meaning well. He didn't take offense to it. Dynamike could- and did- say the worst of things often, but he never really meant it. It was his own affectionate way of expressing love or care. You just didn't take offense to anything he said, whether he called you a weird nickname or said something that was offending about you straight to your face. Half dead or not, he just smiled and nodded. Dynamike was special.

"You better," Dynamike grumbled, but sounding smugly pleased anyway. He let out a wild laugh as they linked hands, and then he was gone.

He felt strangely at peace five seconds before he threw up.

***

Bull was a hot-tempered, tough guy. He didn't emote much besides anger, didn't express softer feelings often or well, and his face was set in a perpetual scowl. He frowned after Crow went. He grumbled after Bibi went. He rolled his eyes after Nita went. Right now, he pulled his famous scowl and scoffed.

"I'm not scared offa death," he barked, loud enough to fill the entire room, leaning forward aggressively, and backing it up with a step forward.

"I never-" he protested, trying to scoot backwards and finding he was already backed against the wall. Bull's wordless snarl cut off his words.

"Shut up 'n jus do it," he hissed, jabbing a hand forward so aggressively, it near punched a hole in the wall right next to his head. He was having trouble maneuvering himself around, backed up into a corner as he was, but he struggled to make contact anyway. Apparently, he was taking too long. Bull impatiently grabbed his hand, making him lose his balance and knock his head on the wall in the process, snapping at him to hurry. He barely hesitated in sending the immediate threat away, but the second he did he lost his support, and he fell flat on the floor. He picked himself up with a wince, eyeing the scattered pieces of magic around sourly.

Did they have to walk all the way here? No. But did both of them agree to it? Yes. Had it been pleasant? No. But Bull didn't have to be so bitter and angry about it. He had already grumbled about going so far away for the entire walk, had sat on once his bed, leaving no space, and then had gotten wound up over a barely offensive comment. He dusted himself off with a sigh. Sure, Bull was probably not going to be able to do much without his gun, but if there was one thing he retained it was a healthy dose of fear for any heavyweight. On the top of that list, the only exception, of course... was Shelly. Angry Shelly. Shelly with her misleadingly happy smile right before she punched your face in thrice over. But after that came every other heavyweight, Bull included. When Bull advanced, he hadn't thought of anything except to run. It had just been bad luck that he'd run straight into a wall.

Either way, it was over now. Strangely, he didn't feel too bad about it. Just relief that he wasn't about to die.

***

They didn't create a burial so much as a memorial. With six of them, they could have covered ground faster if they had split up, but somehow, they ended up going together. Together, they visited every last home, one by one, taking what they deemed appropriate representations of every last person. They piled everything up a little walk away from home, and then all six of them stood thinking of all they'd lost, and saying goodbye. He was glad for activities to occupy his day. Now that a year passed for every brawler gone, there was so much time, and too little to do. This had, at least, taken a week.

He left Nita's and Leon's grave as just that, anyway, and he went to visit every month or so still. Even if there was a memorial of all those gone now, the two of them included, if Nita had wanted this be be Leon's grave, he'd respect that.

He put a flower down- one for Nita, one for Leon.

***

Today was a day Bea looked at him, and that desperate anger and blame welled up in them, despite her efforts to fight it off. She looked away.

"I _am_ sorry," he told her genuinely. She nodded stiffly, but didn't say or do much else. The silence stretched on, pulsing in anticipation.

"I know," she suddenly said, in a small, small voice, so delayed that it could hardly be considered a response. But she didn't say anything else, so that was what it must have been.

"I know," Bea repeated quietly, voice strained and scared. She turned towards him slightly, her helmet still obscuring view of her face. The bee that always flew with her in battle buzzed quietly, flying with her today as well despite the different circumstances. It seemed to be around more often, these days, as if Bea might need help or protection.

"I'm sorry," Bea swallowed, turning a little more, such that he caught sight of her teary eyes and red face, "I shouldn't have blamed you."

"No, I should have-"

"It's not your fault," Bea interrupted, voice high, like it'd break at any second, and her face was the worst mix of fear and grief he'd ever seen. "It's not, it's-"

She hiccuped, and that was where her voice failed her. Only hiccups and sobs escaped her in spite of whatever she might have wanted to say. He let her hug him, wondering why was it that the children always suffered the most. She'd lost, and lost, forced to grow up when she wasn't ready. All too easy to break, all too easy to kill, and all too easy to hurt.

The butterflies she dissolved into only served to make his guilt spike, more so when her bee paused, hesitating, before going with them, longing clear in it's little body.

***

When Emz went, so did the bats. And now the house felt all the more empty. There were only four of them left, now. He couldn't stop shaking, even a week after he sent Emz off, and they weren't even that close. His eyes strayed around, and he was all too aware that any of them could be next, that one of them _would_ be next.

He didn't like this. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't-

***

They were ink, ink on paper in a drawing bowl- except that wasn't really true, was it? Because that would mean that they were being picked randomly, and that was not true at all.

There had never been any chance that the order they'd went in could have been different.

They went in the order that hurt the most.

***

Sandy went next. He looked tired as always, but for once, he didn't fall asleep where he stood. Nor did he find the nearest sleep-friendly surface to lie on(in Sandy's book, the floor was the most reliable option- and it was an option in the first place). Sandy just yawned, and looked tired, and sighed while he struggled to send off the boy.

"Bye," Sandy mumbled, yawning again, but he managed to smile through the yawn anyway.

He felt sick.

***

The robots had went first.

That was a long time ago, now.

Of course they had went first, because Jessie had had to go first, too, and to bring something tantalizingly fixable so close, before ripping it away, was what hurt the most. If she had even one more minute, Jessie would have finished the motherboard, and hence repaired the robots. Instead, they had found the unconnected board, lying shattered on the floor, and all hopes of ever repairing the robots gone.

Of course Jessie had had to go first. She would have figured out the pattern and the lack of randomness an age ago. She could have predicted who would go, and might even be able to locate the source of their problems.

No, Jessie had to go first, and the robots she could nearly fix before her. That was what hurt the most.

***

They sat huddled together, having moved to sleep more closely together. Even though the sun shone as usual, even though day and night continued their usual rotation- it always felt darker. Was it the lack of hope that drove this notion?

There had once been 35 of them. Not anymore. Now there was but a pathetic fraction left of them, unable to quite talk, and unable not to. They sat, not quite looking or touching each other, waiting endlessly. He wanted it to end already.

Thirty two gone, three to go.

It almost sounded like a good thing.

***

Shelly wasn't the best of company. When she was angry, she was an absolute menace. When she wasn't, she was grumpy at best. But he'd seen another side of her. The side that was mellow and soft and smiles. The side that gave out hot chocolate and sat with you and spoke in low, comforting tones. The side that hugged you despite her famous distaste for contact.

It made him want to cry.

***

The second round took one from every group yet unaffected. Trios or duos, who did not have a robot in them. No one was to be left whole.

It took those that smiled and those that hoped. It took those that were the support and those that were the strongest. Because that was what hurt the most, wasn't it?

***

"I'm not scared," Penny sighed, "I wanna go." She looked away witsfully.

"Tick 'nd Darryl went so long ago. I'm not... I'm not sad 'bout it no more. Just wanna see 'em." The pirate girl wouldn't quite meet his eye. When she finally did, she looked guilty.

"'m sorry," she sounded genuinely distressed, "I know ye don't wanna. But I do."

"Do not burden yourself," he said, and he held out a hand. Penny hesitated. Looked away.

"'m sorry," she said again, "can we... do this on da ship?"

***

The third round had reduced those unaffected in the second round to one. It had taken the strong, but had left a couple of those who could cope better behind. Dynamike over Jacky. Bea over Rosa. It took the purely strong, rather than what hurt the most, because it wouldn't do for the last ones standing to be a hopeless bunch of self pitying brawlers. They had needed the last ones standing to be able to depend on each other, right before that was ripped away. The fourth round had done the same- and all the while, it followed the pattern.

8 gone.

7 gone.

6 gone.

5 gone.

If it had to pull Piper, too, even though she was the last of her group, in order to take 5 of them, it would- and it did. Perhaps that was the most perplexing part. One of them had already been reduced to zero, so why, why, _why_ had he hoped it would stop after?

...32 gone. 3 to go.

***

"Right 'ere," Penny sighed, leaning against the wooden pole. She sank to the floor, lacing her fingers over her stomach. She stated at the sky, silent.

"He used ta nap right 'ere, 'nd I'd shout at him bein' lazy," Penny smiled, eyes growing moist. Even if she said she didn't hurt over their deaths anymore, he knew that wasn't true. She'd suffered the greatest loss, and had been left alone for so long before she even had the chance to start healing. He didn't think she'd really stopped hurting, but rather just learnt to live with it. Learnt to live with it, crying by night and keeping herself busy by day. Time might heal all wounds, but it made them fester, too. The pirate girl looked as lost and tired as the day Tick and Darryl first left. Just a little less teary, and a little less raw and jagged, but every bit as hopeless and wounded.

"I wanna go, now," she said, "please." She didn't smile. She didn't laugh. She didn't cry. She just stared at him with wide, wide eyes, pleading to go, to stop hurting, to stop living because everyone she loved was gone. Her eyes teetered on the knife edge of madness, so very close to giving up and doing something she wouldn't come back from.

He couldn't deny her that. He let her go.

***

The fifth round- this was the fifth round. It had all been planned, too. Take away his support, then Penny's, then Shelly's. Then take away the one bright thing still left- Bea- and the rest of them would fall before their turn even came. Oh, it was a well-planned structure, of course, he wouldn't deny that...

He just hated it so, so much.

***

"Coffee?" He blinked. Shelly stared at him with a mildly unamused expression. If he tried, just a little, he could see the hint of anger in it, the spark that drove Shelly on and on with a never-ending force. The cup she was holding was held closer. He took it, because he wasn't sure if he could refuse.

Two to go.

She hesitantly leaned against him, a good ten minutes into his drink. He stiffened slightly, and she instantly pulled away. He only hesitated for a beat, before he decided she really couldn't hurt him any worse than he already was, and scooted backwards, leaning against her slightly in return. There was a tense, awkward minute, before she slowly leaned back, and they sat like that, leaning on each other for support- literally.

"I'm next, aren't I?" Shelly asked. She didn't sound scared, or tired, or angry. Her tone was rough and clipped, but flat. It was just like... she was stating a fact. Something granted. It wasn't really a question. Still, he felt obliged to answer.

"I suppose so," his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. Silence fell back over them. Shelly shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how, or was getting tired of touching someone else.

"Wanna go to de... thing? Later," Shelly hastily added, still unable to say the word "memorial" up till now.

"Alright," he agreed. The sky was really grey today- rain on the horizon, thunder rumbling softly, distant for now. They would have to hurry if they wanted not to get caught in the rain.

But did it matter? There were only two of them, now. It wasn't like they'd have to queue to shower, or decide who should go first. There were more than enough showers, just like there were more than enough mattresses, and more than enough blankets.

They hurried anyway.

The pile seemed grim and ominous in the dulled light. He didn't like it. Shelly pulled off the bandanna that sat around her neck, heaving herself up slightly to put it on top, right above Penny's cannon, Old Lobber. She looked back at him.

"You too," she grunted, holding out a hand. He hesitated slightly, but nevertheless took off his hat, holding it out to her. She put it above her bandanna, before letting herself down.

"I could have done that at a later time," he reminded her. She sent him a sour look.

"Sure you will, when you can't even get outta bed some days," she snapped, tone sharp. She froze the second it was out of her mouth. Looked away.

"I don't-" her tone still edged on frustration, but he knew it wasn't directed at him, "I mean-"

"It is true," he pointed out, and looked away himself. It was. He wondered who would do it once she was gone. Would he help himself? Could he?

"I don't mean it," Shelly spat, sounding sharp and angry, "I... I'm goin' back." She turned abruptly and stomped off. He didn't follow. She needed her space, and he'd let her have it. He turned back to the memorial, staring. Thunder rumbled, a little closer now. If he ran, he could still make it back before it really started pouring.

Instead, he stood there, staring, waiting pointlessly for nothing until the rain came and he was soaked through.

***

Shelly wasn't good with words. She was good at fighting. She was good at scaring others. She was good at keeping peace. But she wasn't good with words. It was nothing like the Retropolis trio, who were scarce and picky with their words, who wouldn't dispense words of love and care unless it was absolutely dire. Shelly didn't even have those words. She didn't know them, or how to use them, or how to express herself through them. So she didn't.

It was really tragic. Even if she wouldn't say so- more so that she wouldn't say so- because she didn't know what that word meant, or how to use it, or if it was appropriate. She wasn't dumb, of course. That was not it at all. She just had a lot of difficulty expressing herself through words.

So, when he knew what she really wanted to say was that she was sorry, and that he should stay strong, and to take care of himself, but she didn't say a word, he knew it wasn't that she was being stubborn. She glared at him, at the ground, at the sky, and then kicked at the ground for good measure.

"Don't you dare give up," she said, "I'll kill you." Then her face twisted as she realised that wasn't what she wanted to say at all- not totally- but although she opened her mouth again, nothing came out.

"You git me?" She demanded, voice turning from frustrated to angry and desperate as she tried and failed to find the words she needed again and again.

"I understand, Shelly," he said, extending a hand. She eyed it with distaste. She might have initiated touches here and there throughout the year, and the year before this, and before that, too, but that didn't mean she liked it. Even after all this time, of hugging others and patting their shoulders and brushing hands when handing over something, she didn't like it. She still hated touching with a burning passion.

She took his hand anyway. And when she was gone, and he sat waiting, he suddenly realised he was all alone. This was it. He was the last one standing.

A year stretched an eternity too long, every minute a heartbeat too fast.

It was so funny, he laughed and laughed till tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he only stopped an age later.

It wasn't funny. It just wasn't.

***

There was no clear path. Every time he walked, he took a different path, treading lightly to avoid creating a dirt path. The forest tweeted sweet tunes, and the trees swayed overhead. He bent down, tracing the shape of Nita's necklace, and put a flower down- one for Nita, one for Leon, and one for him. If, someday, it was time that he went, he would like to do it right here.

He sat and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. That's it. THAT'S IT. HAHAHHA. It's not technically a cliffhanger. You know what's going to happen. He does too. He's just waiting for it to happen. You don't have to know all the ugly details of his suffering as he waits, now, do you? I mean, I honestly feel bad about putting him through so much already. And, well, I can't sustain the mood to write dark, angsty stories for too long, which is also why it's so skimpy and time-skippy. If you have any plot ideas you want to see written(which can be on another fandom!), feel free to tell me, and catch you all soon! :3


	7. Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover for Last One standing! It's a mix between traditional and digital. Now, then, how many items can you identify? And the true question: was the last chapter based on this or was this based on the last chapter?  
> Well..
> 
> You'll never know :)


End file.
